


Congresswoman Lyman

by JoMarch



Series: Exit Strategy [23]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh has plans for the future.  Sequel to Ryo Sen's <i>Exit Strategy: Garlic Chicken, Red Lights and the ERA. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Congresswoman Lyman

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: _17 People._
> 
> Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still wish they were. Still not going to get my wish.
> 
> Thanks: To Ryo (yeah, what a shocker!) for setting this up and writing a kickass feminista manifesto. Now stop reading fic and go bring the academese.

"You know," Josh says, "it may be time to rethink this whole celibacy thing. It doesn't seem to be working for us, does it?"

I almost let him get away with it. I'm half asleep, answering him means looking up, and I don't particularly want to move my head from where it's resting on his chest.

But you can't let him get away with things like that, you really can't. So I lift up my head, look him in the eye and say, "We're keeping to the celibacy."

"Look at us," he protests. "Third time this week. There was Friday after the filibuster, Sunday at my mother's, and now this. Face it, Donnatella, we are not cut out for a life of celibacy."

I've settled back in, and this time I have no intention of moving. "Five weeks is not a lifetime," I murmur against his chest.

"Feels like a lifetime." He's pouting. I bet he's pouting. Okay, that's worth looking up for.

Oh, my. Yes. His lower lip is jutting out, begging me to nip at it. I can't resist him when he begs.

A minute later, the pout has been replaced by a smirk. "See?" he says. "You're no better at the celibacy thing than I am."

"Oh, yeah? Who won the bet?"

"You played dirty," he complains. "You went for my most vulnerable spot."

"Yes," I grin, "but only after you conceded that I won."

"I was referring to your ability to kick Republican ass," he says.

"I couldn't help it. Women who are content to take advantage of the victories feminists had to fight for and who then turn around and say we don't need something as fundamental as the ERA make me crazy."

"'Do you know Rosita, Ainsley?'" he quotes, doing what I consider a rather unflattering imitation of my voice. "God, Donna, it was a thing of beauty. The campaign is going to be a piece of cake."

Now he's confused me. "What campaign?"

Typically, Josh has switched over to political operative mode and ignores my question. "I'm thinking we should start house hunting in Connecticut as soon as possible. Somewhere near my mother maybe. You can run out of that district. The timing is perfect. In two years, you'll have finished college; you'll be ready to run."

"Run for what?"

"Congress," he says. "Congresswoman Lyman. I'll run your campaign; it'll be great."

"First, are you crazy? Second, did you think about maybe asking me if I wanted to do this before you planned out my career for me? Third, are you crazy? And fourth, I have plans of my own for when I finish college."

"First, no. Second, I'm asking you now. Third, again, no. And fourth, what plans?"

"I was thinking that right after college would be a good time to start our family."

"Family?" he asks. There is this slightly stunned expression in his voice.

Oops. Guess he's not the only one who's guilty of making unilateral plans.

"Family," I repeat. "Children. You're against the idea?"

"No," he says. "I just hadn't -- No, I am definitely not against the idea."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Well, good," I reply. "And after I graduate would be the perfect time--"

"No reason you can't do both," he says. "We could sew up the soccer mom vote."

"Joshua, could we maybe wait until the baby is born before we consider my political campaign? Besides, presumably you'll still be Deputy Chief of Staff in two years. How are you going to do that job and run my campaign? Assuming I'd even want to go into politics."

"News flash there, Donnatella: you've been in politics for the last three years." He's grinning too much, damn him. He's getting me hooked on this idea, and he knows it. Congresswoman Moss (not, I should point out, Lyman): it does have a nice ring to it.

It's a silly idea, but it does have a nice ring to it.

"Not as a candidate. It's a whole different thing. I couldn't--"

"Did you hear yourself tonight? You really could."

"Josh, could we discuss this some other time? I'd appreciate getting an hour or two of sleep before I have to go back to work."

"Just an hour or two? I really should talk to that boss of yours. His working hours are getting in the way of my sex life."

"Yes, but he brings me flowers when it's not even our anniversary. And you have no sex life for the next five weeks."

"You'd really rather get the flowers in February?"

"I'd like to get some flowers in February, yes. And there's an anniversary in March now too."

"That's my favorite anniversary."

"As for April, that depends on the subtext. As Sam would say."

"The subtext is that I was scared you wouldn't come back and you did."

"Couldn't leave you without all that sparkly space dust, could I?" I murmur as I fall asleep.

***

I'm generally a sound sleeper. But when you're sleeping in someone's arms and he jerks awake the way Josh just did, well, it's hard to sleep through that.

He's sweating and breathing hard. I'm not even that sure he knows I'm here. He's admitted to me about the nightmares before, but this is the first one I've ever seen. I'm not at all sure what I should do.

Holding him is my first instinct, and I decide to go with that. I put my arms around him and start talking in what I hope is a soothing voice. I have no idea what I'm saying, but he seems to respond to it. After a few minutes, he turns to me and gives me a sheepish grin.

"Well," he says. "This is humiliating."

"Don't be an ass, Josh."

He laughs. He has tears in his eyes, but he still manages to laugh. "You're such a comfort there, Donnatella."

"I mean, after all, we're practically married. This is the stuff you're supposed to share with me."

"Right. 'Cause, really, who needs an emotionally healthy spouse?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you wouldn't be normal if you didn't have some emotional fallout from this? I mean, it was a hell of an awful thing, Josh. You're not supposed to get over it the next day."

"It's been almost a year."

"Well, then, not even the next year." I hold on to him tighter because I'm back there too, in that hospital waiting room, during those fourteen interminable hours.

"So," he asks after a minute, "how many were there?"

"How many what?"

"Red lights."

Oh, that. I should have realized he'd know what I was really saying. "I'm not sure. I lost count after the third one."

He shifts around so that he's facing me. "You have to promise me that next time you'll stop for the red lights."

"Only if you can promise there won't be a next time."

There is, of course, nothing either one of us can say to that. A year ago, we couldn't have imagined any of this -- not Rosslyn, not what happened at Christmas, not our being together. He can't promise nothing bad will ever happen to us again, and I certainly won't promise not to break every law in the books to get to him if it does.

So we simply hold each other until we can focus on the fact that he's still here and he's alive and somehow we managed to work out this thing between us.

Josh is the one who finally speaks, typically changing the subject completely. I wonder if I should make him talk about the nightmares, but he's acting happy right now and maybe that's what's most important.

"I still say two years is perfect for your first campaign."

"Reality check. Won't you have a slightly larger campaign to run around that time?"

And then he sobers up on me again. "Maybe not," he says in this voice that is absolutely unlike him. He sounds unsure of himself. Josh Lyman not sounding sure of himself -- I didn't think that was possible.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that sometimes lately I feel like I'm being shut out of things. Like tonight -- what was going on with Toby and Leo and the president? Why wasn't I there? Why was I working on some lame jokes instead?"

"It can't have been anything that important, Josh. They would have called you into the meeting if it were important."

"Did you notice Toby's face when he got out of the meeting? Trust me; it was important."

"So, what? You think that because of this thing that happened to you, which is no fault of your own, they're going to shut you out of the re-election campaign? Josh, they absolutely would not do that."

"They might. If they don't think I can be trusted, they might."

"They're idiots if they think you can't be trusted. And they're not idiots. You're worrying about nothing, Josh."

"Maybe."

"Absolutely. But, you know, if you're that worried about it, maybe you should talk to Leo. Ask him, I don't know, when we need to get started on re-election."

"We?" Josh smiles at me. "Aren't you going to be busy finishing school and getting pregnant?"

"First of all, I can hardly be working on getting pregnant if you're somewhere else, can I? Secondly, I've been checking out a few things. As it turns out, it's possible for political science majors to get college credit for working on campaigns and stuff, so I could possibly come along for part of the campaign at least."

"Really?" Josh's face brightens up. "I don't have to go through the entire campaign without you?"

"No, you don't. Although how much of the campaign I'm around for will depend on how many credit hours I can talk them into giving me for this at Georgetown. And also on whether I'm, you know, pregnant by then."

"We could start on that second part now."

"I'm pretty sure that conceiving a child out of wedlock would have a political downside for a female candidate."

"Yeah, there is that." And the light dawns. "Wait. You're actually going to do it?"

"Which one? Get pregnant or run for Congress?"

"Both. Either. The second one."

"Get pregnant, yes, but not right now. Talk to me about that in another year or two."

"Okay. And Congress?"

"That is a silly idea."

"It's not."

"You have a presidential campaign to run."

"So you'll run during the midterms. It gives us more time to work out the details anyway."

"It's a ridiculous idea."

"You'd be Congresswoman Lyman. I could introduce you to people as 'my wife, Congresswoman Donnatella Lyman.'"

"Congresswoman Donnatella Moss."

"You're not changing your name to Lyman?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"It plays better. Female candidates who don't use their husbands' names -- it doesn't play well with the voters."

"That is such a feeble excuse. You just want to be all possessive and find a way to trick me into changing my name. Apparently Ainsley Hayes isn't the only one around the office who needs a lecture on feminism."

"I am merely pointing out a political reality. And Congresswoman Lyman has a nice ring to it."

"So does Congresswoman Moss."

"But you'll think about it?"

"Changing my name or running for Congress?"

"Both."

"I'll think about the one but not the other." I settle back on the pillows and close my eyes. With any luck, I can still manage two hours sleep before I have to get ready for work.

"Wait! Which one?"

"Goodnight, Josh." I turn my back on him, just to emphasize the fact that I'm going to sleep now, and close my eyes.

He pulls me back into his arms. "Goodnight, Congresswoman Lyman," he whispers in my ear.

"Congresswoman Moss," I tell him.

"I knew it," he says. "As for the other, we'll just have to work out a compromise."

Honestly, the man is ridiculous. The entire idea is absurd.

Still, I think as I drift back off to sleep, it couldn't hurt to look for a house in Connecticut.

Just in case.

THE END

04.08.01

**Author's Note:**

> You know, if you stop reading right here, that's a happy ending.
> 
> If you continue, don't say I didn't warn you.


End file.
